The Bloodstripe Reflex
by 2Old4This2
Summary: Post ROTJ. After Han is injured in an accident; Leia waits to hear about his condition and considers what makes him the man he is.
1. Chapter 1

**The Bloodstripe Reflex**

 _Chapter One_

Leia studied her datapad, and managed to hold back the smile that tugged at her lips. Her representation of the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ would never be considered fine art, and she knew that the tutors from her girlhood wouldn't be particularly impressed by it, but all in all she thought it wasn't a bad drawing. She'd captured the ship soaring up and away, an action well-suited to both the souped-up freighter and her adrenaline junkie pilot. Leia was still astounded at how much she loved both said pilot—and said ship.

"Princess Leia, wouldn't you agree that the number of personnel the representative from Sullust is requesting is more than the Provisional Council can authorize?" Mon Mothma fixed the princess with a cool stare, at once both challenging and scolding.

"On the contrary, I'm concerned that the number isn't great enough to deal with the threat from the Imperial troops in that quadrant." Leia met her mentor's—correction, former mentor—icy look with one of her own. If Mon Mothma thought she'd caught the princess not paying attention, she was sadly mistaken. Leia had been playing the games of politics and diplomacy for far too long to not know how to multitask.

And with that they were off again. Arguments flew around the council chamber, point and counterpoint; Leia returned her attention to her datapad. It wasn't that the princess was bored—she wasn't—but she was weary. She had known that it was too much to hope that the Empire would just fade away into the darkness of the Unknown Regions after the death of Palpatine; Leia was too smart of a woman to have ever believed that was possible. It was just that everyone, the whole kriffing Alliance, had been so elated after their victory at Endor—so hopeful. Yet here they were; still fighting the same battles, still making the same decisions, and still worrying about who would live and who would die. They might have cut off the head of the Empire, but the body refused to die. It felt as if the war had never really ended, because for so many, it hadn't.

Glancing down at the table in front of her, Leia almost laughed out loud. Her doodling had added a crude rendition of a space slug, along with a few mynocks, to join the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ in her drawing. Of all the moments of the past six years, she wouldn't have thought the time spent in the belly of a giant slug would be worthy of remembering. Once again, Leia forced herself not to smile. Contrary to all imagining, the time spent hiding in that slug, in that asteroid, had been a major turning point in her life. A turning point for which she would be eternally grateful.

A rather screeching objection being voiced by the representative from Sullust drew the princess's eyes back to the council chamber floor. Leia could sympathize with the Sullustan's dismay, even while she cringed at the sound of it. Fortunately for her hearing, several other representatives were already shouting the poor soul down. It was business as usual during wartime. Leia didn't bother to hide her sigh, drawing another look from Mon Mothma. The princess smiled sadly back at the older woman.

Her artistic endeavors complete, Leia looked to the sky window in the chamber's high ceiling. As near as she could see past Coruscant's towering edifices and the ever present pollution, the skies above were as clear as they were ever could be. Han and Chewie would have good conditions when they brought the _Falcon_ in—and they'd be landing any time now. Han would be home. Gods she had missed him!

And, gods, she had worried about him.

Han, Chewbacca, and the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ were still the perfect combination when it came to acquiring goods and information for the New Republic's seemingly never-ending battle against the remnants of the Empire. Han and Chewie's smuggling skills—and their inherent bravery—joined with the _Falcon's_ over-powered engines and over-powered weapons got them in and out of places no one else could manage.

That didn't stop the princess from worrying.

Leia had wanted to go with them; staying behind and waiting patiently had never been part of her particular skill set. However, the two tiny lives she was responsible for, tucked safely within her womb, had dissuaded her from accompanying Han and Chewbacca on their mission. Actually, it hadn't, but Han had. When the princess had suggested that there was no particular reason she couldn't go with them, Han's responding, and negative, roar had challenged any howl of rage Chewie had ever issued, at least for sheer volume. It wasn't often that the Corellian rejected one of Leia's suggestions outright, so when he did, it was not something to be taken lightly. Especially when he was right; curse the man. So Leia had remained on Coruscant, listening to testimony Threepio would be better equipped to handle, and worrying about the safety of her children's father.

However, the mission had been a success; Han had confirmed this with central command as soon as it had been safe for him to make a report. All that was left was for the ship to return with the badly needed munitions. Which would be any time now.

The princess took a sip of water and stifled a yawn. It wasn't the droning voice of the Bothan representative that was making her tired, well not completely, anyway. Leia was surprised to discover that just being pregnant could wear one down. Another reason Han was right to insist—demand—that she remain on Coruscant. However, she couldn't keep her lips from twitching with irritation at the thought.

Those lips slowly lifted to a smile as she thought of reuniting with her beloved. Leia could almost feel his work-callused hands holding her body close to his, and his lips, both soft and firm, as they moved down from her breasts, to her belly, and beyond. She yearned for the weight of his hard body as he lowered himself onto her… The princess bit back on her anticipation as she saw Mon Mothma's stern look, and felt her cheeks warm with a blush. Maybe the older woman had a point this time.

The harsh sound of a warning siren, even muted through the walls of the council chamber, caused the Bothan representative to stumble over his oratory and glance nervously out the sky window. However, the sky beyond remained empty of anything other than normal air traffic for Coruscant, and the Bothan continued. As other Council members shifted in their seats and looked to windows and doors, Mon Mothma tapped her aide on the shoulder. Hirani, the young Twi'lek female, slid gracefully from her seat and climbed the steep stairs to the exit. Coruscant had remained relatively free from Imperial attack, but that didn't mean that each and every one of its citizens didn't expect it—and an attack on the New Republic Council would be quite a coup for the Empire.

The aide returned almost immediately and whispered in her superior's ear. Mon Mothma rose and cleared her throat.

"Pardon my interruption, gentlebeings," the older woman began, her cool, clear voice reaching the far corners of the chamber. "I know that all are wondering what the cause of the warning klaxon was." Mon Mothma let her eyes survey the chamber, encompassing everyone with her gaze. "I have been assured by Colonel Derlin's staff that there is no cause for alarm. There was an accident involving one of the pilot trainees. The siren was merely to warn off approaching ships until the docking bay is cleared." She smiled at the Bothan speaker to continue.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over Leia. Foremost was disappointment; she hoped this wouldn't delay the _Millennium_ _Falcon's_ arrival. She reproached herself almost immediately. If control had to redirect incoming traffic, it must have been a bad accident; there was a distinct possibility the young pilot involved was seriously injured, if they hadn't been killed outright. How could she worry about Han returning home late in the face of such a tragedy? The princess shifted uncomfortably in her seat. So many lives had been lost already, but each one still hurt her.

In an unconscious gesture, Leia placed a protective hand over her belly, symbolically shielding her children from the harsh realities of life. Luke had told her that the twins were already aware through the Force, in a very basic way, of their mother's thoughts and feelings. Leia hadn't tried any direct communication with the infants—she wasn't sure that she could—but she did her best to send the twins calming, happy thoughts. Then she returned her attention to the business of governing. As tedious and drawn-out as the process could be, the princess reminded herself to be grateful they were free to bore one another to tears. Some good had come of the long war.

"Your highness?" A hoarse whisper sounded behind her.

Leia turned with a start to see one of the door monitors standing just at her left shoulder. The serious, guarded look in the Kuati's dark face stirred a twinge of uncertainty in the princess.

"Yes?" she whispered back.

"Would you step outside for a moment, please?" he requested.

Leia's seed of uncertainty sprouted into a bud of anxiety as she followed Mon Mothma's gaze to the door of the council chamber. Colonel Derlin stood just inside the chamber, his clothes rumpled and stained dark with soot, his eyes solemn and sympathetic. Colonel Derlin—he had been major Derlin then—had been in charge of the hangar and ships at Echo Base. When Hoth had evacuated ahead of the Imperial attack, he had managed the chaos with a calm hand. Whatever had brought him here, away from his job, couldn't be good.

Leia gave one sharp nod in reply as she rose. Nothing could have happened to Han and Chewie, she assured herself, nor the _Falcon_. Mon Mothma's aide had reported that it had been a training accident. If the incident had involved another ship—especially the _Falcon_ —they would have said so, wouldn't they? There would be no reason to withhold that information, unless, of course, they felt they couldn't upset the princess in her delicate condition.

The spike irritation the princess felt at that thought disappeared as she started up the stairs to the chamber exit. Real fear blossomed as she saw her own aide and dear friend, Winter, standing in the corridor behind Colonel Derlin, Leia's bag clutched in her slim, white hands. Leia's breath caught in her throat as a premonitory shudder caused her to stumble on the steps. Only the Kuati's quick grasp of her elbow kept her from tumbling back down the steep incline.

There wasn't a doubt in Leia's mind; something had happened to Han.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note: Thank you so much, everyone, for your enthusiastic response to this story. I tried to thank everyone who reviewed, followed and/or favorited it. If I missed you, I'm sorry, it was unintentional. Let me thank you now._

 **The Bloodstripe Reflex**

 _Chapter Two_

"Your highness…" Colonel Derlin began.

The princess felt like her heart was caught in a vise, each beat constricting painfully behind her breastbone. She fought against the heavy fear pressing down on her.

"Leia…" Winter started.

"What happened to Han?" Leia demanded as her eyes darted between the two. Her voice was crisp and businesslike, which pleased her, since she had just tucked her shaking hands inside her sleeves. But masking one's true feelings was a skill every diplomat learned, and Leia was an expert. There was only one person who unfailingly saw beyond the composed façade to the real, emotional woman inside—Han.

 _Why weren't they saying anything?_ Leia wondered desperately. _How bad could it be?_

"Is he dead?" she continued quickly. _No, no, no!_ her mind cried desperately. _He can't be dead. I'd know that, wouldn't I? I'd feel that._ With brisk strides, Leia began walking down the corridor, leaving Winter and Derlin to trail along behind her. She actually had no idea where she was going, but she had to keep moving. She was afraid that if she stood still, the tremors would start again, and the princess couldn't allow that to show.

Colonel Derlin sputtered behind her. "Your highness," he said again. "Princess, if you would just let me explain."

The princess didn't slacken her pace.

"Leia!"

It was Winter's sharp rebuke that froze the princess in her tracks. Leia spun on her heel to face them, her face a stiff mask of self-control.

"Stop, Leia. Take a breath." Winter placed a gentle hand on the smaller woman's arm. "Just listen for a minute," she said in a calm voice. Her grey eyes held fast on her friend's face.

Leia shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. _I need to stay calm—for the babies; this isn't good for them. Gods! I can't let them experience what I'm feeling. No one should have to feel this._

"What happened?" Leia asked again, addressing Colonel Derlin. "You told Hirani that there was an accident with a pilot trainee. Isn't that what happened?"

"That's exactly what happened," Derlin answered with a snap; then he took a deep breath, too. "My apologies, princess," he continued in a normal voice. "This has been a trying afternoon." He held up his hand, obviously anticipating that she would interrupt him; Leia noticed that the knuckles were bleeding. Yes, it had been a trying afternoon.

"One of our newest recruits, a young man from Corellia," he added, "was coming in for a simulated ship landing. He completely missed the force-shield capture netting, and plowed his trainer into a stockpile of engine coolant." There was pain in the Colonel's eyes as he relived the crash in his mind. "The X-wing caught fire, which, in turn, ignited the spilled engine coolant." His gaze was unfocused as he recalled the details. "Coolant isn't a volatile liquid, which is why there wasn't an explosion, but it does burn," Derlin explained. "Captain Solo had just landed the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ ," he continued, his tone as formal as if he were making a report. "He saw the accident and went to help extricate the pilot." Derlin swallowed. "He went into the flames," he finished. His voice was hollow and his face looked haunted.

Leia felt her stomach muscles tighten. Of course Han would run into a fire. Curse him to the deepest of the Corellian hells; didn't he ever think before he went charging into danger? She must have let her mask slip, just for a second, she thought, as she saw Colonel Derlin blanch before he hurried on.

"If Han—Captain Solo—hadn't moved so quickly, that pilot might have burned to death; he was unconscious from the crash. Chewbacca helped get them both away from the worst of it." Derlin looked straight at the princess. "Both Han and the pilot are at the trauma center now," he explained. "Chewbacca is there, too."

 _Chewie was hurt, too?_ Leia swallowed down the hard lump in her throat as the colonel pulled a comlink from inside his soot-covered jacket and checked the display. "He hasn't messaged me. I guess the trauma team doesn't know how badly Han is hurt yet."

Leia felt her tight muscles loosen the tiniest bit. Right now she needed Chewie to be all right.

"Which is where you should be going," Winter advised. She grasped Leia by the elbow and moved her forward toward the building exit. The princess saw an official Customs' speeder, obviously it had been the easiest vehicle for Colonel Derlin to commandeer from the docking bays, waiting outside. Derlin hurried around to the pilot's seat while Winter helped her friend into the passenger side.

"It will be okay," Winter whispered to her as she handed Leia her bag. She gave the princess's hand a firm squeeze. "I know it will."

Leia stared up at her friend and offered a wordless look of thanks as the speeder moved into the steady stream of Coruscant traffic.

####

 _Can't he drive any faster?_

Leia knew that this was an unreasonable question as soon as she thought it. Colonel Derlin was negotiating through the congested snarl of speeder and hover-truck traffic with a skill that would rival any pilot other than Han, weaving in and out; up, down, and around the vehicles that were moving at a normal, sluggish, Coruscant pace.

The princess looked at her driver. Derlin appeared older than he had the last time she had seen him, which was only a few weeks ago. There were deep lines around his eyes and mouth that hadn't been there then. This had to be difficult for him, too, Leia realized. He'd just witnessed a horrific crash, and seen an old friend injured. Derlin and Han had known each other for a long time; he must be worried, too.

 _So why wasn't he getting to the trauma center any faster?_ Leia was just too nervous to be reasonable right now.

As the speeder streaked forward, the streets, buildings, and residents of Coruscant all became nothing more than a multi-colored blur. Leia's thoughts gravitated to Derlin's description of the accident. Unbidden and unwelcome, she saw every detail of the accident in her mind's eye: the X-wing careening into the barrels of coolant, the flames shooting upward, Han running into the fire… She could feel the lick of the flames on her arms and face, and feel the searing heat of the toxic fumes in her lungs. Leia coughed and gasped.

"Princess? Are you alright?"

"What?" she asked as she hacked again. _Gods!_ If this was the Force acting on her, she could do without it. Leia quickly focused her thoughts on her unborn children; the phantom pain died away.

"You sounded sick, there for a minute," Derlin observed. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"No, I'm fine," Leia answered. It was nowhere near the truth.

The Colonel looked closely at the princess, then nodded. "We're here," he pointed out.

Leia looked up, startled to see the emergency entrance to the trauma center. They'd finally arrived. Chewie stood just inside the door, waving urgently at her.

"Colonel," she said. "Thank you for getting me here so quickly." That was the truth, as far as it went. Leia fumbled for her bag as Derlin unlatched the canopy.

"Princess…Leia," Derlin looked imploringly at her. "I have to get back to the docking ring; it's a mess there." He rubbed the bridge of his nose as if his head ached. It probably did. "Please let me know as soon as you know anything about Han."

Leia levered herself out of the speeder. "I will," she said as she looped the strap of her bag over her shoulder and walked to the entrance to meet Chewie.

####

The first thing Chewie did was envelop the princess in a bone-jarring hug, lifting her up off the ground. If it had been anyone other than Chewie, Leia would have objected that she was just fine and that she didn't need any comforting. But Leia knew that the hug was just as much for his sake as it was for hers. The three of them—Leia, Chewbacca, and Han—had been through so much together, and had known one another for such a long time, that there was a friendship between them that few outsiders would understand.

When she felt her feet touch the ground again, Leia steadied herself against Chewie's broad chest and brushed a few stray strands of Wookiee hair from around her nose and mouth. His fur usually smelled of trillium soap—or of the Millennium Falcon. It was disconcerting to smell the acrid chemical scent of the crash in it.

With an insistent groan, Chewie grasped Leia's upper arm in his large hand and propelled her down one of the center's maze of corridors, as other beings and droids wisely moved out of their way. The princess, trotting to keep up with the Wookiee's much longer stride, tried to find out where they were going, and what exactly had happened to Han. However, each question she asked was met with a noncommittal grunt, grumble or growl.

Frustration finally drove the princess to take desperate steps. Catching the Wookiee unprepared, she jerked her arm free, and with a quick step-hop, maneuvered herself in front of him. Chewie nearly bowled straight into her; fortunately his lightning-fast instincts took over, as Leia had known they would. Two hairy arms reached out and grabbed the tottering woman before she was knocked to the floor. When he was sure Leia was steady on her feet again, he raised those arms above his head and scolded the princess for her reckless behavior with an angry howl. Several of the more sensitive species of beings nearby scampered away from the angry display.

Leia looked up into Chewie's face, where she saw anxiety, not anger, in the Wookiee's bright blue eyes. Of course, he was worried, too. She reached high above her head to pull his arms back down to his sides.

"Chewie," she said, taking one of his huge hands in her small one. "I'm sorry I got in your way like that, but you've got to answer my questions." She turned dark eyes, suddenly swimming with tears, up to his face. "Tell me where we're going?" She paused and drew a tremulous breath. "How bad is it? How badly is Han hurt?"

The Wookiee looked down at her and warbled a few short words. He didn't miss the responding spark of irritation in Leia's face.

"I know it's not good," she snapped out. "We wouldn't be at the trauma center if it was something simple." The princess took a steadying breath. "But before I take another step, I need to know what it is I'm walking into."

Leia didn't miss Chewie's quick glance down to the burgeoning bump just below her waist.

"Don't," she admonished him. "I'm fine, and they're fine. Now tell me."

Chewie only shook his head at the stubborn princess. Then, with two deft movements, Chewbacca opened the closest door and maneuvered himself and the princess inside it, resealing the door behind them. The space proved to be a large storage closet. A tiny part of Leia's mind—the part not desperate to know what in the hells was going on with Han—wondered how the Wookiee knew the room would be empty. Perhaps, he just hadn't cared if it was or not.

Leia was glad for the privacy as Chewie described what had happened after the accident. By the time he was through with his rumbling explanation, the princess had her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. She leaned back against a rack filled with cleaning supplies, her face white. The Wookiee wrapped a heavy arm around her shaking shoulders.

Han had sustained severe burns to his arms, chest, and face. When they brought him in he'd been in terrible pain; they'd sedated him immediately after a cursory physical exam. He was immersed in bacta now, Chewie explained. With time and several different immersions, the burns would heal.

Leia had breathed a brief sigh of relief at that information, only to have it quickly stolen away by Chewbacca's next statement, spoken in a carefully modulated moan.

The medics, both droid and human, were more concerned about what Han had breathed in as he pulled the pilot out of the X-wing. The heat had been extreme, which might have caused damage to his lungs. Plus, the fumes of burning fluids and melting metals made for a toxic airborne soup. They would need to monitor Han carefully for inhalation poisoning.

Odds were, Chewie carried on with a ghost of a grin, knowing Han's contempt for odds-quoting, that Han would make a full recovery. But it might be slow, the medics had suggested, and there was the possibility of complications. Then he'd rubbed a furry knuckle across Leia's face to wipe away the tears that poured down her cheeks.

The woman and the Wookiee stood together in the closet until Leia regained her composure. Then, with an encouraging smile, Chewie asked if Leia was ready to go. She nodded her head jerkily and reached down to pick up her bag off the floor.

"Let's go see Han," she said. Shouldering her bag and straightening her spine, she opened the door and stepped into the busy corridor.

With his arm still wrapped around her shoulders, Chewie guided the princess toward the bacta treatment room.


	3. Chapter 3

_Once again, a huge thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed and/or favorited this story. If I missed thanking you in person, let me do so now. You guys are great and I really appreciate your support._

 **The Bloodstripe Reflex**

 _Chapter Three_

Everyone hated bacta.

Leia was fortunate that in her life, she'd never had to endure the experience of being fitted with monitors and breathing apparatus, then submerged in syrupy fluid for an undetermined period of time. Everyone she'd ever spoken to had told her it was an unpleasant experience, and she'd never had any reason to doubt their appraisal. On the other hand, she would never undervalue its seemingly miraculous healing powers, either.

Especially now, she thought, staring into the tank in front of her.

Han floated in bacta that was icy blue in color, his hair waving like seaweed as his limbs undulated slowly in the viscous fluid. He looked terrible. Even through the heavy transparisteel tank and the blue-tinged bacta, Leia could see the red, blistered skin and open sores from the burns he had sustained. Some of his hair had been burned away. For some reason, that bothered her almost as much as the other injuries; it was hard to envision Han without his thick, unruly mop of hair.

Her heart ached at the sight.

The transparisteel was cool beneath the fingers of Leia's left hand. Once again, her right hand rested on her belly, instinctively comforting and protecting her children—their children. Her thoughts were all in a jumble, and not in a good way. They caromed around her beleaguered brain without direction, leaving her feeling unsteady and unsure. While most of her feelings were nameless nightmares, one stood front and center—fear. Seeing Han weak and helpless was an unsettling sight; he'd always been her one solid thing in an otherwise uncertain universe. Just a few hours ago, Leia had been picturing his strong hands and hard body joined with hers. Now, he didn't even know she was there.

Another emotion, as familiar as it was unwelcome, made itself known as she watched Han's wounded form float in front of her—loneliness. No, not loneliness; she had Chewie, her brother, and so many others who cared for her and would support her. What she felt was alone; something she hadn't felt in a long while—not since they'd rescued Han from Jabba's palace. Han was a part of her now, completely and irrevocably; he was the one piece of the universe that made her complete. Separated from him by the transparisteel tank, by the bacta, and the other equipment keeping him alive—she felt hollow.

Leia felt herself shaking uncontrollably, and, just for a moment, she didn't try to stop it. She'd always known that loving a man like Han Solo—who was always willing to dive headfirst into the most dangerous situations—wouldn't be easy, but the thought of losing him… She couldn't live without him.

 _That's ridiculous,_ she told herself, as she now struggled to fight back the tremors. _Of course she could live without him; she'd done it before._ She just didn't want to, ever again. Once more the tears started, slipping silently down her pale cheeks, and pulling her lashes into starry points.

The princess was so absorbed with her own fears that she wasn't aware that Chewie had moved to stand behind her until he awroofed softly, and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. Reluctantly she turned away from the tank and met the Wookiee's soft blue eyes.

"I'm all right," she declared, before Chewbacca had a chance to ask. She squared her shoulders and dropped the hand that had been wrapped tightly around her middle down to her side.

Chewie emitted a soft chuckle and pointedly wiped a tear off her cheek.

"Okay," Leia conceded. "Maybe I'm not quite as fine as I could be."

He nodded his understanding, then drew the princess's attention across the room to the woman standing in the doorway, dressed in scrubs—she hadn't even heard her come in. Leia assumed she must be the doctor, and steeled herself for whatever came next.

"Princess," the woman began, her tone precise. "I'm Della Surran. I'm the doctor in charge of Captain Solo's care." Leia looked her over carefully. She was slender and lithe, with silky dark skin and softly curling hair, plus the most amazing pair of silvery eyes Leia had ever seen. Those eyes were both kind and keenly intelligent. Leia guessed that she must be a native of Socorra , as Lando Calrissian was. That was unusual; Socorrans tended to be smugglers and gamblers, not physicians. The princess had a strong feeling that Della Surran was a good doctor, too. She'd had to have worked very hard to get where she was today, and in Leia's mind that counted for a lot.

"According to the captain's datafiles," the woman held up a small datachip, "you and Master Chewbacca are listed as Han Solo's next of kin."

"Uh, yes," Leia began. Her heart sped up; if there were decisions that needed to be made… Her hands clenched tightly at her sides.

The young doctor held up her hand and smiled. "Don't worry yet, princess. I merely had to get the formalities out of the way. I'm aware of your relationship with Han Solo." She slanted her head toward Leia's belly. "When are the children due?"

"Another five and half months."

Dr. Surran nodded. "Why don't you come and sit down for a while and take a break?"

"I'm fine," Leia objected automatically. "And I'm not leaving Han." She turned back to the tank where he floated in his drug induced sleep.

"Just for a few minutes," the doctor suggested, motioning through the doorway to the room behind her.

Chewie added his own opinion on the subject. He didn't snarl, only woofed, but Leia saw enough of his sharp white teeth to know he wasn't going to put up with any objections on her part.

A wave of exhaustion washed over the princess just then; it seemed to her as if the entire universe was conspiring against her right now. With a weary nodded, she followed the doctor into the other room.

Leia hated rooms like this. Its designer's obvious intent had been to create a space that would encourage the fearful, and soothe the mourning. That intent was so obvious, in fact, that the princess thought it couldn't possibly achieve either goal. The pastel-colored walls were hung with saccharine holos of mountains, lakes, and flowers, and the cream-colored couches and chairs—ironically placed at uniformly rigid angles—all screamed of an institutional version of 'comfort'. It set her teeth on edge. She perched herself on the edge of one of the settees, swaying a little as the cushions sagged under Chewie's heavy bulk when he lowered himself down next to her.

Della Surran seated herself on the corner of a sharp-edged table across from them and pulled a datapad toward her, seemingly out of midair. She took a moment to peruse its contents before addressing Leia and Chewie. She sighed, causing Leia's already nervous stomach to roll a little more than it already was.

"I'm pleased to say," the doctor began, "that after we were able to stabilize his condition, we found that most of Captain Solo's injuries aren't as severe as we first feared."

Chewie barked skeptically, and Leia mutely agreed with him. If Han's injuries weren't severe, she didn't want to know what was.

Dr. Surran seemed to understand their doubtful looks as she continued.

"The burns are bad," she agreed, "and caused Han some severe pain at the time, and brought on shock."

Leia swallowed and blinked back tears. Chewie draped an arm around the princess's slim shoulders and squeezed gently, moaning his concern for his injured friend.

"But we relieved those problems first," Dr. Surran quickly assured them. "The burns will heal with a series of bacta treatments." She paused to consult the datapad again. "And it appears the damage to his lungs was as minimal as we could hope for under the circumstances. A little inhalation therapy should take care of that." Another glance down at the datapad. "We'll need to monitor his chemistries for another 24 to 36 standard hours to check for any toxicity, and make sure he's given fluid for dehydration, but other than that…" A happy smile filled the young woman's face, revealing even white teeth. "It may still take some time, but I expect Han to make a full recovery."

Leia didn't hear anything beyond Chewie's relieved roar and the rushing sound in her own ears; she would have to ask the doctor to repeat what treatments and time would be required. All she knew was that Han would live and that he would be fine. Relief flooded her, washing away the heavy weight of fear and uncertainty she'd been carrying inside her. She felt limp as she sagged against Chewbacca.

The doctor obviously grasped Leia's reaction; she reached over and patted her hand. "We can go over the rest of this later," she said. "Take a few minutes to get your bearings, then you can go back into the treatment room if you want." She consulted the chrono on her comm. "This first treatment is the longest. It will be a few more hours before we move Han to a room."

She rose and rubbed absently at her derrière. Sitting on that table had to have hurt. "If you have any questions, have them comm me." She headed to the door, then stopped to reach into a nearby cabinet. "I almost forgot," she continued, pulling out a small plastene bag. "These are Captain Solo's belongings." She held the bag out to Leia. "I'm afraid most of them are ruined from the fire. But there are some things that are salvageable, even if they smell awful. " She wrinkled her nose. "And I imagine Han will want to keep the bloodstripes." Her silvery eyes met Leia's dark brown ones. "As I understand it, Corellia doesn't hand out those things to just anyone—they're hard earned." With a nod, she turned and left, heading back into the treatment room.

Leia shut her eyes and breathed deeply. With the fear gone, she felt empty—like her soul was a vacuum. Oddly enough, when it refilled, her strongest emotion was anger. How could Han have put them through this? Didn't the man ever think? He could have died! Didn't he realize what that would do to her, and to Chewie? And the babies? He was a father now; he had responsibilities! The princess began to shake again, but now it was fury—not fear—that drove her.

Surprised, Chewie turned to her and rumbled out a question.

"No, nothing's wrong," Leia spat out. "Except for the fact that Han's an idiot! How could he be so stupid? Risking himself like that!" She jumped up from her seat and paced the small room, her emotions were running too strong for her to sit still. "Doesn't he realize he has responsibilities?" she continued. She was flying at full throttle now. "He can't always act before he thinks. What about his children?"

Chewie's teeth-baring howl shook the small room as he leapt to his feet. Leia turned and stumbled as she looked at the furious Wookiee. The menacing growl that followed had the princess backing clumsily into the nearest chair. It wasn't often he directed his anger at her, but now he was defending Han, she realized.

After a few choice obscenities in Shyriiwook, Chewbacca seemed to collect himself. He lowered his raised arms and looked almost sheepish as he reseated himself. After checking to make sure the princess was alright, he barked out an apology.

"I'm sorry, too, Chewie," Leia said. "It's the hormones." She looked a little sheepish herself at the facile excuse. "Well, mostly, anyway." She let the wry grin that had formed on her face slip away. "But, what was Han thinking, running into a flaming wreck like that? I wish he'd think a little more of himself before he throws himself into dangerous situations."

The Wookiee's blue eyes, calm now, met her brown ones. He warbled out a simple explanation.

"Yes, I understand he needed to save that pilot; no one wanted to see him die." Leia heaved a frustrated sigh. "But couldn't he have waited till the emergency crews got there?"

Chewie barked once in the negative.

"No?" Leia looked at the Wookiee in disbelief. "You waited." She felt her ire heat up again, and quickly tamped it down.

Chewbacca barked another simple answer, then pointed one huge hand at the bag containing Han's bloodstripes. He whuffed a question at the princess.

"No," she answered slowly, a confused frown knitting her brows. "I don't know how he got them. He never told me." Leia looked curiously across at Chewie. "Would you tell me?" she asked.

Chewie only shrugged and warbled a little.

"You don't know either?" Leia looked incredulously at him "He never told you?"

The Wookiee only shrugged again and laughed a little.

Leia raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What do you mean it doesn't matter?"

This time the explanation was longer—the grunts, growls, and rumbles more emphatic. When he was through, he leaned back in his seat, hands locked behind his head, a smug smile on his face. He would have made a great politician, Leia thought. His debate skills were exceptional.

As Leia listened to Chewie, she had to admit he was right, it didn't really make any difference how Han had earned his bloodstripes. As Dr. Surran had said—those bloodstripes were hard earned. Han had done something selfless and brave, without thinking about himself—just as Leia had seen him do an infinite number of times before. She had grudgingly admired him for it as far back as their meeting on the Death Star, and had only grown to love him more for it as she grew to love Han himself. His willingness to take the most dangerous risks, and to offer help when others backed off made him who he was; the man she loved so much.

Leia leaned back against the stiff cushion of the chair she was seated in and shut her eyes, just for a minute. She took one deep, cleansing breath, then another, finally settling her topsy-turvy emotions. An unexpectedly fond feeling filled her, but it felt right. She had called Han a scoundrel for the first time, so many years ago, in the belly of that space slug, and he had been unpardonably pleased with the description. She couldn't count the number of times she'd called him a scoundrel since. He was a scoundrel—the bravest, noblest, most reckless scoundrel she'd ever known—and she loved him all the more because of it.

Leia opened her eyes and pulled herself upright, smiling at Chewbacca, who was watching her carefully.

"You're right about Han," she agreed with a smile, reaching over to squeeze the Wookiee's hand. "Thanks for helping me see it clearly." She walked to the door of the treatment room, before she turned back to the Wookiee. "Now I'm going back in to be with the crazy brave man I love."


	4. Chapter 4

_Again, thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed and/or followed this story. I'm so happy you're enjoying it._

 **The Bloodstripe Reflex**

 _Chapter Four_

There was only fire. It surrounded him and flowed inside him, filling him with boundless pain. But that didn't matter. Desperately, he tugged at the dead weight of the man whose life he held in his hands, but the man didn't move, and they were both going to die. No, his stubborn brain told him, he wasn't going to let that happen. He inhaled another lungful of hot smoke and plunged his hands into the fire, giving one final, adrenaline-filled yank. Like the pop of a cork from a bottle of fine, Alderaanian frizz-wine, the man burst free of the burning wreckage. They both dropped to the smoking ground where blackness finally whisked away the pain.

####

He was riding on a sea of air, rocking gently as he floated forward. The motion was making him dizzy. He inhaled deeply to clear his head, but instead of cool, clean air, his lungs filled with fiery pain. A solid, unyielding object covered his nose and mouth, and panic overwhelmed him. He would suffocate if he couldn't push it away. Of course, right now that almost seemed a better option than having molten durasteel filling his lungs. Almost. He groped blindly at the obstruction, trying to pull it away, but his hands were caught in a Wookiee's iron grip. Chewie? Chewie was his friend; how could he do this to him? But when he tried to free his hands, the Wookiee only tightened his hold and told him to let the doctors do their job. Doctors? Why were there doctors? But then the pain was gone, and he gratefully slipped into the safety of darkness again.

####

The air that surrounded his naked body was chill, and he thought he would never be warm again. Cold? Naked? That couldn't be good. He tried to open his eyes but something cool and damp covered them. In a frenzy, he moved his hand to pull it away. But something caught it and held it still.

"Shhh."

The sound was familiar—a balm against all wounds—and he was still again. Something warm was placed gently over his shivering body and the jittering of his heart in his chest slowed.

"…need to do this…" He heard an unfamiliar voice in the distance. Whoever they were, as long as they left him alone he was good.

The cloying, gummy feel of rubber against his nose, cheeks, and chin set his heart racing again. He knew what was coming next—liquid fire in his chest. He writhed against the hands holding him down while bells and beeps shrieked around him.

"Isn't there another way you could do this?" A worried, familiar voice queried.

"I'm sorry, it has to be done this way."

He felt the pressure of the mask on the tender skin of his face, and the fine mist of pain began at the back of his throat. No, he wasn't going to let them do this to him again; didn't they know how much it hurt? He tried to turn his head away, but something held it firmly in place. The alarms shrilled insistently.

"Han, I'm right here. You're safe, just relax. It will be all right," the familiar voice coaxed him. Whoever the voice belonged to, they didn't understand what it felt like—burning and choking at the same time.

He tried to pull the mask away, but a tiny hand, surprisingly strong, caught his arm and held it firmly away.

"Listen, Flyboy! If you just stop fighting, this will all go so much easier." Han heard the snap of anger mixed with the concern. The speaker's voice didn't leave any room for argument. But the small hand squeezed his reassuringly, her other hand resting tenderly against his cheek.

Leia! For her, he choked in the mist, and let the pain take him back to the dark.

####

Grudgingly, Han Solo swam slowly up through the murk of drug induced sleep to full consciousness. With half-closed eyes he took careful stock of himself and his surroundings. The other times he'd gotten this far, he'd been less than pleased with what he discovered. This time seemed better. There were no flames or smoke, that was a start; and there hardly any pain. Even better, he was both dry and prone, which meant he wasn't in bacta—gods he hated that stuff. Heartened, he opened his eyes a little wider. Nowhere could he see a member of the medical staff—either sentient or droid—approaching him with a mask filled with bacta mist, encouraging him to take just one more deep breath. Kriff! The combination of the burning sensation with the choking sensation of that particular treatment was what had driven him back to unconsciousness the last time.

He swiveled his head to the right. Han's breath caught in his throat, the quick hitch in his lungs almost sending him back down into the safe pit of oblivion before he realized that this time the catch wasn't the precursor of more searing pain. Instead, it was his normal reaction whenever he caught sight of Leia Organa; she always took his breath away. He would never cease to wonder how he had ended up being the luckiest man in the universe.

Shifting a tiny bit to one side, Han was better able to see the princess. How she had managed to curl up and sleep in what must be a very uncomfortable chair baffled Solo's still sluggish brain. However, he knew from years of experience that once Leia Organa set her mind to something she accomplished it. Her stubbornness was just one of the many reasons he was madly in love with her.

Leia's dark hair fell half over her face in a rumpled curtain. Somehow, she'd tucked her knees up against her torso, making her body into a lopsided u. One arm stretched out so that her hand could rest on the bed next to his. The other hand was wrapped around the softly curving mound of her belly, and her mouth hung open, just a little. Han felt his lips quirk up in a smile—Princess Leia Organa was snoring. She looked like a sleeping baby.

Baby? Babies! The coarse institutional sheets made a swooshing sound as Han's body stiffened against them. How long had he been out of it? He could have sworn there had been no outward signs of Leia's pregnancy when he and Chewie had left Coruscant. After a moment's concern, he breathed out a relieved sigh; it looked l she and the babies were doing well.

"Han?" Leia asked in a sleepy voice. She must have heard him move; she squinted through her hair at him.

"Yes, your Worship?"

The princess's feet hit the floor with a soft thunk as she brushed her hair out of her eyes. She leaned forward, her eyes traveling back and forth across Han's reclining form.

"You're awake." Her smile was tentative as she stared intently at him. "Really awake," she breathed out, her smile growing wider.

"Yup." Han flashed her his brightest scoundrel's grin, even as he felt his heart pound in his chest. He hoped he didn't set off any alarms on the monitors; he heard enough of that, he thought, to last him a lifetime. G _ods, she was so beautiful!_

With a smile to match his—at least in luminosity, Leia reached over to catch Han's hand in hers, then dropped it again

"Oh!" she said in surprise.

"What?" Han asked, confusion replacing his smile. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" He shifted himself into a more upright position. The part of himself not worrying about Leia was pardonably pleased to see that he was able to manage this feat with minimal pain.

Grinning a little, Leia took his big hand between her two small ones. "It's so soft," she explained. Looking down at their conjoined hands, Han cocked an inquiring brow. "It's smooth—no roughness or calluses," she continued. "It doesn't feel like your hand; I guess I'm still not used to it."

Han's brows lowered in not quite feigned anger. "Kriffing bacta," he muttered. "Don't worry, I'll roughen it up again," he added with a smirk.

"I'm sure you will," Leia replied, a tight smile stretching her lips.

Extricating his hand from between Leia's, Han cupped her cheek, realizing once again how precious this woman was to him.

When he saw the look on her face, Han let his hand fall away. He knew he was going to have to say something about the accident. He stared down at the hairless, pink skin of his hand and wondered just what he could tell her that would explain what he did, and why he'd done it. He didn't have to guess what he'd put Leia through; he could see it in her pale face and drawn features.

"Uh, Leia," he began, turning back to her beautiful, tired visage.

"Yes, Han?" The princess had tucked her feet underneath her in the chair; except for her rounded belly, she might have been a child. She looked expectantly at him.

"About what happened," he continued. "You weren't there; you didn't see what happened." _Great start, Solo!_ "You know that I think about you and the kids," he waved his hand, indicating her newly bulging midsection. "I think about you all the time." He paused to take a careful breath; his chest felt tight. He wasn't sure if he was still feeling the effects of his injuries, or if it was just a case of nerves. "But that pilot; he would have roasted if I hadn't pulled him out." His mouth drew to a thin line as he remembered. "There was no one else who could have done it in time," he concluded.

Leia untucked her feet and pulled herself upright, leaning toward Han. "So you decided that you would just run into a burning wreck without any protection—without any thought of anything other than the moment?" she asked him sharply, one hand propped on her hip.

Han felt the rapid rise of his temper—she had no right to talk to him that way—and then its equally quick decline. She was the love of his life, the mother of his children. She actually had every right to call him on this.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I know—"

"Of course you did," Leia interrupted him. "You wouldn't be Han Solo if you hadn't done exactly that." She smiled at him and Han felt his heart start to race again, but in the good way. "You wouldn't be the man I love." Leia stood on tiptoe to lean further over the bed. Wrapping her hand behind his neck, she kissed Han firmly on the lips.

For a moment Han thought he must be hallucinating, some weird side effect from the treatment. He shut his eyes and opened them again, but Leia was still there, her smiling lips inches from his.

 _Obviously miracles did happen,_ was Han's only coherent thought as he leaned in to kiss her again. He froze when Leia gave a surprised grunt and pressed her hand to her belly.

"What's wrong?" Han asked, his eyes narrowed. "Do you need me to call somebody? A doctor?" He groped to one side for the call-link.

"No," Leia said, reaching out her hand to stop his. "It's just…" she paused, a look of wonder on her face. "I felt the babies, one or both. I felt them move." Her eyes were wide and soft. "This is the first time." She placed his hand next to hers. "Feel it?" she asked him.

There it was; the slightest flutter. He could feel his child—children. That was their children. They were his future and Leia's future; and he would be there to see it. It was a gift he would never squander.


	5. Chapter 5

_One final thank you to everyone who's read and enjoyed this story. This chapter serves as the epilogue._

 **The Bloodstripe Reflex**

 _Chapter Five_

Leia lay back against the soft pillows on the bed and stretched hugely, the silken fabric of her nightclothes slipping across her skin like a caress. It was a luxury she didn't take for granted, not after spending three days and two nights curled uncomfortably in a straight chair, wearing the same rumpled, constricting clothes. She had considered tossing the whole grubby mess into the disposal chute, from whence it would make its way to the garbage masher. As one of only a few who could claim firsthand knowledge of the inner workings of a trash compactor, Leia had thought it was a fitting final resting place for her clothing. However, in the end, reason won out and the princess had set them aside for the autovalet. There was a war on, after all—she shouldn't be wasteful.

Careful to remain on her side of the bed, Leia reached out a gentle hand to stroke Han's pillow. The smile that followed was an odd mélange of tenderness and aggravation. She was more than delighted at the thought of Han being out of the trauma center and back home where he belonged, but the brave Captain Solo had proved to be a most difficult patient. She was pretty sure the staff of the trauma center wouldn't miss him.

Some of his complaints she understood. Being under the tyrannical rule of medroids and physicians, even a physician as reasonable as Della Surran, would be enough to cause any functional sentient to balk. For the ferociously independent Han Solo, it was tantamount to being imprisoned and tortured. She both admired and concurred with his concern about the fate of the young Corellian pilot he had pulled from the burning X-wing, but not knowing the man's fate had left Han irritable and edgy. He hadn't been able to get much-needed rest until he was assured that Rayf Colton had survived and would make a full recovery.

Leia had gone to see the young man as soon as he was well enough to have visitors. It had been a difficult visit. The Corellian pilot had been in tears as he gave Leia the message of thanks that she was to relay to Han, and he'd nearly groveled at the sight of such a prestigious guest as one of the heroes of the Rebellion. It had made the princess very uncomfortable. However, she'd borne it with a diplomat's gracious smile; he was a very sweet, very young man. And it certainly was better than having to write a condolence message to Rayf's family. She had written more than enough of those missives for one lifetime. Or two.

The rest of Han's behavior, however, had been enough to make her want to pull her hair out by the roots—or to strangle Han. Both options held their own appeal. Since he'd returned to full consciousness, he had objected, quite vociferously, to any of the further treatments he needed. From the volume of his objections, one would think that the doctors had been planning to submerse him in flaming oil instead of a simple, hour long bacta treatment. And when the medroid had approached him with what was the last of his inhalation therapy, he had threatened to remove its head and toss it across the room. In both cases, it had taken both herself and Chewie to get Han to submit—er—cooperate.

But by far, the biggest commotion had been on account of Han's hair, or lack thereof. Much of his hair had been burnt away by the flames from the wreck, and what was left was patchy and uneven. Leia had agreed with Dr. Durran that the hair should be cut short. Even though Leia missed Han's unruly mop, it was just hair—it would grow back. However, the first time saw his own reflection he had alternately cursed and sulked. When he discovered that the hair on his arms and upper torso was also gone, he had complained loudly enough that one of the medics had thought Han had a limb amputated. Leia had refrained from telling her beloved that his whiskers were gone, too, at least temporarily.

She also had refrained from telling him that even though he was behaving like a bad-tempered child, she couldn't have been happier. An angry, irritating, and vocal Han Solo was a recovering Han Solo.

With a contented sigh, Leia pulled the covers up over herself and reached for the reader on the nightstand where she'd left it three days earlier. Keying it on, she picked up where she'd left off. It was a ridiculously silly story of lovers separated by circumstances beyond their control, only to be reunited years later—just the thing to lull her to sleep. Mere minutes later, when the princess had reread the same paragraph three times, she was certain she was drowsy enough for sleep.

"Lights, off," she requested. She replaced the reader on the bedside table as the room faded to dark.

"Good night, my love," she said softly as she gave the empty space next to her a loving pat. Her eyes closed…

…and the babies came to life. Leia's eyes sprang open at the still unfamiliar sensation of the twins moving inside her. From the feel of it, they must be playing a rousing game of smashball. One particularly enthusiastic kick elicited a surprised grunt from their mother.

"Really?" she addressed the mound of her belly under the covers. "You're going to do this now? Mom needs her sleep; daddy has been wearing her out." Now was the time to try some direct communication with the infants, Leia thought. _Go to sleep, my little ones. Tomorrow is a big day—your daddy will be home._

She waited, holding her breath. For the space of one heartbeat, two, three, there was no movement in her womb. _Luke was right,_ she thought with surprised pleasure, _I can talk directly to them._ With a small smile, she shut her eyes…and received a sharp kick in a kidney.

"Very funny," she grumbled. "Very kriffing funny." She turned onto her side, stretching out one arm toward the empty space, and encountered a wet pitten nose.

"Spot?" she asked, jerking her hand back in surprise. She realized almost immediately what a stupid question it was. Of course it was Spot. He had greeted her at the door when she'd arrived home, with loud moans of pitten abuse, even though she knew that Winter had been there to care for him every day Leia had been gone—and his food bowl had been filled to the brim. He'd then spent the rest of the evening ignoring her, and making sure the princess knew he was ignoring her.

Right now, Spot was stomping around Han's side of the bed—though how something as small as a pitten could stomp eluded Leia—making little grumbling noises.

"It's okay, Spot," Leia said soothingly. "Daddy will be home tomorrow." Spot was very much Daddy's pitten.

He stalked and grumbled through a few more circuits around the empty side of the bed, before coming to Leia's side and curling up against her. One of the babies seemed to kick out in greeting.

Leia sighed, and reached down to scratch the pitten behind an ear. Just a few minutes ago, she'd been thinking about how empty the bed felt—however right now it seemed crowded. She smiled into the darkness. Tomorrow Han would be home, and everything would feel just right.

Her smile broadened. In a few more months, she thought happily, the bed would even be more crowded.


End file.
